All in the Timing
by bourbon
Summary: Woody and Jordan struggle with their conflicting emotions in the aftermath of Devan's death. COMPLETE!
1. A Time to Mourn

The rain fell soft and grey on the cluster of black-clad mourners in the churchyard of St. Bridget's.

They stood huddled against the chill, not speaking. They hadn't spoken of Devan's death in the week that had past, not really. There are been a kind of silent acknowledgment among them as they moved numbly through the halls in those first days. Then, they had fallen back into the routine and averted their eyes as they went by Devan's empty office, and it was almost as if she had never passed through.

"I hate funerals," Bug finally said.

"Not a funeral," Jordan followed grimly. "Memorial service." And then, quietly, "No body."

The silence fell back over them as they watched the others file into the church. There were some of Devan's med school classmates, sorority sisters, and members of the Maguire family. Devan's mother arrived, dignified under a black umbrella. Her face bore the unnatural serenity of one who had been slightly sedated.

"Anyone seen Woody?" Lily asked. They all turned their eyes expectantly to Jordan. No response came. "I didn't realize he and Devan were so close," she went on in a small voice. "I thought you and Woody..." her voice trailed off.

Jordan looked down and kicked at a loose stone with the toe of her shoe. "We were just friends."

There was another silence, and Jordan wished someone would fill it with something, anything, talk of the weather, rather than this.

"Oh. Were they...serious?"

"What, is that a polite euphemism for were they 'doing it?' I'm not Woody's keeper. How should I know?" Jordan had meant it to sound light and flip but was surprised at the edge in her voice.

"I'm sorry, Jordan, I just thought you might know..."

"Well, I don't," Jordan cut her off. As if to punctuate, she sent the stone skittering across the churchyard.

Jordan looked up at Lily, her brows raised in surprise, her mouth a round 'O.' "I see," Lily said softly. Jordan's eyes fell, and she busied herself with the buttons of her coat.

She searched for something witty and casual to say to leave them with the impression that she could not care the slightest about Woody and Devan's relationship, but then she became aware that Woody had come through the iron gates of St. Bridget's and was walking up the cobblestone walkway. His face was ashen, his hair dampened with rain.

Her mouth fell open to call his name, and her hand raised to wave him over. He saw them and nodded once in recognition. Then he turned and cut across the grass to where Mrs. Maguire stood. She watched as he reached out his hand. They spoke solemnly as she patted his hand in hers, and then they embraced and he kissed her gently on the cheek. He went into the church without looking back.

Jordan turned to the group. Their eyes all quickly darted away, and they pretended they hadn't seen her watching him. They stood again huddled in a circle. "Poor Woody," Lily finally said quietly. "He must be devastated. Have you talked to him at all, Jordan?"

Jordan said nothing for a moment and then folded her umbrella with a snap. "No," she said sharply. "I'll see you guys inside."

xXxXxXxXxX

She found her mind wandering during the mass, lulled by the voice of a priest who had never even met Devan. She was uncomfortable, wedged between Garret, Lily, Bug and Nigel and passed the time counting candles and scanning through the congregation, as she had done at many a childhood mass.

There were the Maguires in the front pews. They all looked alike, all cool blondes with the air of the aloof about them. Jordan knew the kind, like her grandmother, who would never show any signs of public grief, but she could only guess at the depths of their pain.

She felt a pang of guilt now and again, thinking of the family and of her last conversation with Devan. But mostly her only emotion was a sense of curious detachment. She almost had the feeling of being at a play, and not a very involving one at that. And then her wandering eyes would fall on Woody, who sat alone in a pew a few rows ahead of her.

He was unusually still, as if he were trying very hard to be so. She could not see his face, but his head would bow occasionally and his shoulders would sink for a moment, but then he would snap back up, straight and stoic.

Why had she not gone to him? Why had she not slid into the pew next to him and wrapped her arms around him? How many times had she thought to call him this week but had not? He suddenly seemed remote to her, someone she barely knew at all.

The mourners spilled out into the churchyard after the service. The rain had ended, and they squinted as their eyes adjusted to the new sunlight. Mrs. Maguire crossed the grass toward Jordan, supported on the arm of a young Maguire cousin.

"Jordan...I'm so glad you came. Please. Come back to the house, won't you?" She spoke slowly and deliberately.

"Well, actually, my father...I own a bar and some of use from the office were going to go there and..." Jordan cleared her throat uneasily. Mrs. Maguire smiled.

"Devan would love that. She wouldn't want her friends to be sad. Go. Have fun." The young man took her elbow and steadied her as they turned to go.

They all traded uncomfortable looks, knowing that none among them had really though of themselves as Devan's friends.

The mourners dispersed and Jordan made her way with the others toward their cars. She scanned the crowd for Woody, but he was gone.

xXxXxXx

There was a respectable number at the Pogue. Emy and Sidney, and some of the others from the M.E.'s office. Even some detectives and ADA's with whom she had worked. Garret stood behind the bar.

The mood was subdued, but not altogether joyless. There was music from the jukebox and stories about Devan being Devan. They all laughed and shook their heads knowingly. Jordan sat apart from it all at the bar.

The group had dwindled by the late afternoon. Nigel and Bug and a few others remained. Lily busied herself gathering dirtied mugs from the empty tables.

She passed by Jordan and put a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

"You okay, Jordan?"

"Yeah, fine. Listen, Lily. I want to apologize for what I said this morning. I..." She didn't bother to finish but shrugged.

Lily opened her mouth as if to speak, but then thought better of it. She smiled. "I'll see you tomorrow, Jordan."

The door opened then. It was Woody, the last of the day's sunlight streaming in behind him. They all looked silently at him as he crossed to the bar. The sound was broken by Nigel's chair sliding across the floor.

"Well...I guess I'd better get going," he said softly.

"Good idea," Bug murmured. Lily gathered her coat. She smiled with concern at Woody and followed Bug and Nigel out.

Woody settled on a stool at the other end of the bar from where Jordan sat. "Set me up with one, will you, Dr. Macy?"

Garret drew him a beer. "Well," Garret said quietly. "I guess that's last call. I'll see you tomorrow, Jordan. Woody...take care of yourself." Woody only nodded in response.

He sat silently until Garret closed the door of the bar behind him.

"I sure know how to bring a room down." His voice was thick.

She moved to the end of the bar to where he was sitting and slid onto the stool next to his. "How've you been, Woody? I've been meaning to call you all week." She started uneasily. It occurred to her that this was a conversation she should have with an acquaintance, not with Woody.

He shrugged and took a swallow of his beer. "I'm fine, Jordan."

She licked her lips and fumbled for words. "I'm sorry, Woody. I didn't realize that you and Devan were...dating." The last word stuck in her throat.

"We had only gone out a few times. Besides. Do you really think we wanted to air our business around you people?"

Jordan winced. Sometime in the last month or so, he had started seeing Devan Maguire and Jordan, herself, had become just one of "you people." How had she missed this?

He went on. "I mean, all that gossip was bad enough about you and me, and we weren't even dating. Imagine us dating. How stupid is that?"

"Yeah, I guess so." They sat for a moment in the uncomfortable stillness of the bar. "Anyway. I'm sorry. I just wanted you to know. And if there's anything I can do..."

"I'm fine."

"Well, how about this?" Her voice sounded artificially upbeat. "I bet you haven't had a decent meal in a week. Why don't you let me take you out for a hot dinner? Steak and a baked potato?"

He drained his glass. "Thanks, Jordan. But I'll pass." The cool finality in his voice took her breath.

He rose from the barstool and headed for the door. He paused and stood at the top step. "I guess I'll be seeing you around the office, then." He stood and looked at her questioningly, as if he were waiting for her to respond, but she did not.

He walked out into the twilight. She watched him go, sitting alone in the darkened space, powerless to cross the considerable chasm that had somehow opened up between them.


	2. You Can't Always Get What You Want

...If I just stare at the phone long enough, she thought to herself, I can will it to ring...

He had called almost every Friday night for a year now. Sometimes, they would go to a movie or to dinner. Other times, he would arrive with a pizza and a DVD. Sometimes, she would feign illness or just let her machine pick up. But he had always called.

When had he stopped? It was all a little fuzzy. He had been in the office on business one Thursday a month or so earlier and asked her if she would be free the next night. He was in the mood for Italian.

She had said yes and then returned to her desk and checked emails. There was one from an old college boyfriend saying he would be passing through Boston that weekend. John. They had ended things on friendly terms, and Jordan had often hoped their paths would cross again.

She managed to catch Woody as he stepped into the elevator.

"Hey, about tomorrow night. Something...came up. Kind of a last minute thing. Work, you know. Tons of work. Sorry."

"Oh. Well. Work. Okay." He looked at her with a touch of hurt, and Jordan knew she had been caught in her lie.

"But next Friday, I promise." She smiled up at him with a winning grin.

"Sure, Jordan." The elevator doors shut. She felt a momentary pang of guilt, but her thoughts quickly turned to her choice of wardrobe for Friday night.

John had called the next night at seven to say his trip had been cancelled. She immediately picked up the phone and dialed Woody's number. There was no answer.

Now she wondered if he had been with Devan.

She sat on her bed, turning up the volume of her iPod as if to drown out the thoughts chasing through her mind.

The phone rang. She grabbed it up eagerly. "Hello?"

"Dr. Cavanaugh?!"

Her heart sank.

"Emmy..."

"Dr. Macy asked me to call. He needs you to come in and finish up the autopsy reports in the Phillips case. The records have been subpoenaed, and discovery is due by tomorrow afternoon."

"It's eight o'clock on a Friday night, and that's not my case. Why me?"

"Well...you're actually the fifth person I called," Emmy began sheepishly, "But no one else was home on a Friday night."

She rolled off the bed and slipped on her shoes. "I'll be right there."

xXxXxXxXxXx

She strode into Garret's office and tossed the reports on his desk.

"Here they are. Signed, sealed, delivered."

Garret looked up from his paperwork and tossed his reading glasses on the desk.

"So, Emmy actually suckered someone into coming down and finishing those reports."

"Yeah, well. You remember what happened the last time someone asked me to cover a shift," she laughed ruefully.

She collapsed onto the sofa with a heavy sigh.

"Everything okay, Jordan?"

"I was just thinking about Devan."

He nodded sadly. "Me, too."

"I was so nasty the last time we spoke."

"A young woman is dead. This isn't about you, Jordan."

She continued. "I was so mean to her when we spoke, and that was probably the last conversation she had before she died."

Garret sighed. "Jordan, she could have had 100 conversations after she talked to you. And I somehow doubt that she was giving you the slightest bit of thought as she was gasping for breath on that airplane."

Jordan looked down at the floor, feeling a sting of shame.

Garret continued quietly. "But I guess it doesn't really help matters any that she was seeing Woody."

Her head snapped back up. "What is that supposed to mean?"

He rolled his eyes ever-so-slightly. "Come on, Jordan."

She jumped to her feet and waved her arms with exasperation. "Once and for all! We're just friends! That's it! Sometimes I wonder if we're even THAT!"

"Methinks the lady doth protest too much."

"Thank you, Mr. Shakespeare, but I don't have feelings for him!"

"Why don't you just come over here and hit me with your bookbag? Come on, Jordan, we're not in middle school. The truth is you have feelings for him that go beyond friendship. How far beyond, I don't know. I'm not sure I want to know. But you being you, you won't admit it to anyone, least of all yourself. You've been keeping that poor kid at arm's length for years, and he finally got sick of waiting and moved on. That's why you were nasty to Devan, and that's why you feel so guilty about her death. Because you were jealous."

She slumped back onto the sofa. "Spare me the dime store psychology, Garret. That is so not true," she said without much conviction.

"God knows you won't take it, but I'm offering you some free advice. Either tell him how you really feel about him or leave him alone. My preference would be that you leave him alone. He's been through too much. You didn't see him at the crash site," he said, shaking his head. "He was devastated."

"Yeah, well..." She had no snappy comeback. She hadn't seen Woody at the crash site, but Garret had told her how he had tried to project a professional air, but that his hands had trembled and his voice broke and he had seemed so small and lost. Her heart had ached for him, and she had wanted to call him, she had meant to, but she had never been able to make herself do it.

"I'm outta here," she finally said and strode quickly out of Garret's office before he could say anything else.

Garret's words nagged at her on the drive home. It wasn't true. Of course it wasn't. She didn't have romantic feelings for Woody. She missed her friend, that was all.

Still, as her head hit the pillow, she knew Garret had been right about her feelings toward Devan. Jordan may not have wanted a relationship with Woody, but his attentions were flattering. Now, she had lost him. Worst of all, she had lost him to Devan Maguire, who was cute and blonde and a pink, perfumed girly-girl.

Jordan had never been above using her femininity, but it seemed to be Devan's stock-in-trade. Woody had fallen for it, and Jordan had been jealous. The realization was not a pleasant one.

The clock beside her bed read 3:17. She sat up and rummaged for the TV remote, knowing that sleep would be elusive that night.

xXxXxXx

Woody sat in his office reviewing a file. He had read the page three times, and not a word of it had sunk in yet.

His thoughts, as they frequently had in the last weeks, turned to Devan and Jordan. He had never met anyone quite like Jordan, but it had been an exhausting three years, with very little to show for it but rejection and frustration and the rare, chaste kiss.

Then there was Devan who was, on the other hand, like so many other women he had met. He hadn't noticed her at first, so busy was he pining for Jordan. Then they had been thrown together on a couple of cases, and he had gradually began to understand her appeal.

Then one week, Jordan had blown him off with some flimsy excuse. He had felt wounded at first, then angry. He happened to run into Devan, and she said she would be very pleased to join him for Italian the next night...

They sat across from each other in a booth. It was a cheap Italian place, but the food was good, and they had a band on Friday nights that did Frank Sinatra and Tony Bennett.

They talked easily about work and the food and wasn't the band great. There was a lull in the conversation. Devan swirled her wine in her glass.

"So. You and Jordan. What's that about?"

"What do you mean?"

"Are you an item?"

He searched for the words to describe their relationship. "No. Just good friends."

"Oh, really?" She smiled and looked at him coyly over the top of her glass of chardonnay. "Was that her choice or hers?"

He squirmed uncomfortably. "It was a mutual thing."

"Oh, really?" She said again, sipping at her wine. "Her loss."

He smiled and blushed and excused himself. When he returned from the men's room, he watched her there in the booth from some distance away.

She was sitting there in her skirt, legs crossed, twirling a strand of blonde hair around a finger. He had been to this restaurant with Jordan once before. They had laughed and talked for hours and even shared a slow dance on the floor. It occurred to him that anyone watching would have thought they were a couple, but the evening ended, as usual, with a sisterly hug and a cool "good night."

Jordan was complicated. She was a mystery he was sure he could never solve. But Devan? She was just who she appeared to be: exasperating, yes. But cute, funny, smart, and utterly uncomplicated.

He went to the table and threw down the tip. "Ready to go?"

She smiled and nodded and slid out of the booth.

They walked down the block silently to her car.

"So, there's really nothing between you and Jordan?"

He shook his head vigorously. "Nothing."

"Good to know," she purred and slipped her hand into his.

They paused wordlessly when they reached her car for that awkward first-kiss moment. Then he leaned in and kissed her softly. She smelled of roses.

She was smiling when he opened his eyes again. He smiled back, and she whispered him a good night. He did not move from the spot as she slid into her car and drove off and was still standing there wearing a somewhat stunned smile as she reached the end of the block and disappeared around the corner.

Her death had dealt him an overwhelming blow. He had tried to sort it out in the weeks since the plane crash. He mourned for a young woman whose unrealized life had been ended violently and needlessly. Harder to understand was his own feelings for her. He enjoyed her company, found her attractive, but mostly he mourned for what might have been, and not for what was.

He felt for some time now that his life had begun to stagnate. Professionally, yes. He had accomplished all he wanted to with the Boston P.D. But the reality had begun, at last, to sink in that Jordan was never going to be ready for the kind of relationship that he wanted.

Sometimes, as the song says, you can't always get what you want, but with Devan, he thought perhaps he could find what he needed.

Now she was gone, and Jordan was a road he was not sure he wanted to walk again.

His mind turned back to the file. He had finished the first paragraph when her voice broke his concentration.

"Hey! Can I interest you in some lunch?"

Jordan had come hesitantly into his office.

"Hey, Jordan..."

"What do you say? Hungry?"

He waved his hand over the stacks of files on his desk. "I can't. Work."

"Come on, Woody, if you hit those files any harder, you'll give yourself a headache. All work and no play..."

"I can't. Really. I'm just going to eat a sandwich here at my desk."

She waited for a moment for him to invite her to join him, but he did not.

"Oh. Well..." She looked around and shuffled her feet awkwardly.

"Sorry you wasted a trip down here, Jordan."

She shrugged and contemplated leaving, but instead sat in the chair next to his desk.

"I guess I'll just grab something on the way back to work. So. How've you been?" Conversation with him had suddenly become stilted and painful.

"Fine. Really." He said without elaboration.

"Well, listen. I was thinking. If you're up for it, how about we go this weekend to that place we went to over by the B.U. campus. Remember? You know, the one with the cheesy karaoke and the unbelievable nachos? Man, I had a blast."

He smiled blandly. "Yeah, sure. We could do that. You, me, Lily, Bug, Nigel. The whole gang."

Her face fell. If he noticed, he said nothing, but maintained the same bland smile.

"Sure. That'd be great." She leapt up and began to babble with forced lightness. "Well, it was GREAT seeing you. I guess I'll just let you get back to work."

She stood in the doorway with her back to him when he spoke again.

"I didn't love her, Jordan," he began with a hushed voice. "But I thought I could have."

She did not turn back to him but stumbled down the hallway. Tears had popped into her eyes, but she willed herself not to cry. Her eyes were dry again as she walked outside. A grey cloud passed over the midday sun, casting a long shadow across the parking lot.

She sat in her car in darkness for a moment. She could see him in his window sitting motionless at his desk, his head in his hands. She dabbed at an errant tear and started the drive back to her office.


	3. Missing You

_Thanks for all your kind comments! This is the 3rd of 4 chapters. I hope you enjoy it!_

xXxXxXxX

It was not a good idea to drink alone, she knew. She had seen that too many times at her dad's bar. There was always someone who would come in and sit at the end of the bar and down drink after drink and then stagger back through the door without a word to anyone. Worse yet were the people who would come home with a fifth of scotch and sit silently at the kitchen table refilling the empty shot glass.

Not that she was one of those types. She convinced herself she was being a cosmopolitan single gal, drinking a glass or two of shiraz while listening to music. It was a perfectly acceptable way to spend a Friday night.

It was, of course, perfectly acceptable. It was how she had chosen to spend many an evening in the past rather than be with Woody or anyone else. Now, the choices had been narrowed and she sat with her glass wallowing in the misery of her aloneness.

The guilt over Devan's death had passed into sadness. Jordan hadn't particularly liked her, but they had worked side by side and Jordan had known something of her dreams for a future that would never arrive.

And then there was Woody. Reliable, steady Woody. She always thought he would be there somehow. It had never occurred to her that he might grow weary of the chase. No matter how often she had rebuffed him, he always seemed to come back full of undiminished eagerness.

It was so very convenient, this thing she had with Woody. She never wanted for companionship. Or an appreciative eye when she wore a new dress or had her hair done. She enjoyed his company, and she supposed she was attracted to him in a way. She cared about him, too, and wanted good things for him. It was really the perfect relationship without all those messy emotions. Not that she was in love with him.

No. Not love. Was it?

The thought struck her. Could she be in love with Woody? The only other times she had professed to being in love was with married men or other paramours who were somehow unattainable. But here was someone who had been in front of her all along who _wanted_ her. She couldn't possibly love him, could she?

A few months earlier, he had come over on a Friday night with a pizza and a movie. It was one of those Tom Hanks-Meg Ryan romantic comedies that she publicly berated but secretly loved. In the end, the seemingly mismatched couple realized they were in love and the end credits rolled to a sappy Celine Dion ballad.

He clicked the TV off and launched into a story about a case he was working on. She sat across the room from him, her chin resting on her knees, and pretended to be listening. But she was really looking at him as if she had never actually taken a good look at him before: his blue eyes, his mouth, his gentle hands, the reassuring warmth in his voice.

_Maybe things between us _could_ work out_, she thought to herself, and she knew suddenly that she wanted to kiss him.

"Yoo-hoo? Jordan?"

"Wuh?"

"I was just saying how I should hit the road."

"Oh, sure..." She walked him to the door, and he turned to face her.

"Well, good night, Jordan." How many times had they stood like this at her door, and she had sent him home unrequited? She felt her heart racing. She peeled her tongue from the roof of her mouth.

"Good night, Woody." But there was nothing. He threw his coat on and headed down the hall.

It was not terribly exciting, this thing with Woody. She supposed that is why she had never thought it was love. There was no drama, no games. But it was constant and tender and true.

It was as if a lightning bolt had hit her and it threw her to her feet.

"Oh, my God..." she found herself saying aloud. And then quietly, "I _do_ love him."

She remembered Garret's words. If she really loved Woody, perhaps she should just keep it to herself. Whatever his feelings for Devan were, he needed to time to deal with them.

No. She had already wasted three years, and no one had ever accused her of showing restraint. She wasn't drunk, but she could convince herself that she was, and anything she said could not be held against her.

Garret. What did he know?

xXxXxXx

It seemed an inordinate time between the moment she knocked and the moment he finally answered the door. She worked on a appropriate look of breezy casualness.

"Surprise!"

"Jordan..." It _was_ a surprise, and not a completely welcome one, she gathered from the stern set of his jaw.

"I was just in the neighborhood..." She stepped past him into his apartment.

"Jordan, have you been drinking?"

She held her thumb and index finger up a hair's width apart. "Just a little." She let out a little tinkle of a laugh.

"So...what are you doing here?"

"I was thinking of you all by your lonesome here on a Friday night, so I thought I'd come over and take you out for pizza. Whaddya say? Pizza?"

He exhaled noisily and ran a hand through his hair. Finally he put his hands on his hips and looked at her unmovingly. "I don't think so, Jordan."

"Come on! That's the third time in a row you've turned me down. You could give a girl a complex." She laughed again nervously. He didn't speak, but remained standing impassively by the door with his hands on his hips.

She moved around the room, suddenly feeling like an unwelcome stranger in a place she had been many times before.

"You moved the sofa."

"Oh. Yeah. I did that awhile ago."

"Yeah, well, I wouldn't know since I haven't been here in awhile."

"Hoooo-kay. You want to tell me what's going on, Jordan?"

"Nothing! I haven't seen you in awhile. Can't I just stop in? We used to have our Friday night thing, remember? Kind of like your Sunday night thing with Devan and the mooshu from Wing Wah's or wherever. So, it must have been really good, that mooshu, to have it every Sunday." It had been an attempt at conversation, to change the subject until she could work up to her confession, but she realized immediately it came out angry and spiteful.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Hey, nothing. Don't mind me." She held up her hands apologetically. "I shouldn't have brought it up." He was standing in the kitchen now leaning uneasily against the island. "Aren't you going to offer me a drink or something?"

He turned toward the refrigerator, and she curled up on one end of the sofa.

He came back into the room and stood in front of her with a bottle of spring water. "Here. Water. You can take it with you."

She looked up at him with stunned eyes. She was being dismissed. "Look. I'm sorry. I'll behave. It's just..." She sighed. "I miss you," she said simply. "I haven't seen you in awhile, and I miss you. Can't we just sit here and talk like friends?"

He stood for a moment and then finally sat hesitantly on the opposite end of the sofa.

"Yeah. I guess it has been awhile, Jordan." Was that regret in his voice? "Things have been. Well...you know."

"I know. Life is short, huh? It makes me start thinking about what's important. All the things I'm missing out on." She took a gulp of air. "Like...love." He cocked his head and looked at her quizically. "I mean, it's Friday night. I'm sitting in my apartment by myself wondering if I'm destined to be alone for the rest of my life."

"You'll find someone, Jordan. You will." He patted her arm patronizingly. She supposed that should have been her answer and she should make a hasty exit, but she continued.

"Well, that's just it." Her voice lowered to a sultry whisper. "I think I have found someone." She looked up at him. His eyes narrowed. "Someone who was right under my nose all the time."

She eased across the sofa to him and leaned in, her mouth agonizingly close to his.

"Don't do this, Jordan..."

The air around them crackled with tension.

"Don't do what?" she murmured. She brushed her lips against his. He sat unmoving for a moment, and then leaned into her almost imperceptibly. Then his mouth was on hers, and he responded with urgency. He ran his hand up her back and into her hair, and his breath quickened with hers.

Then, suddenly, his hands pushed her shoulders back, he broke the kiss and leapt to his feet.

"Don't! You're not going to do this to me, Jordan. Not now. I am thirty years old, and I haven't had a serious relationship since I came to Boston. Why? Because I was waiting for _you._ I let you string me along for three years, and shame on me for letting you do it, but you're not going to get another opportunity."

"String you along? I think I made it pretty clear I wasn't interested in a relationship."

"Yeah, so clear, you were perfectly willing to let me chase you and take you dancing and skiing and out to a fancy dinner every time you needed your ego stroked."

"Is that what you think our relationship was all about? An ego boost for me?" she asked hurtfully.

"I don't know what it was about, Jordan, other than all kinds of messed up."

"Well, you must have been getting something out of it, too, or you wouldn't have hung around for three years."

"Oh, I was. I was getting _you_. Or as much of you as were willling to give up. I loved you, Jordan. " His use of the past tense sent an unpleasant jolt through her. "I loved you so much I thought those little pieces of you would be enough. And then I finally figured out that I could never fit those little pieces together to make a whole, and it just about knocked me flat. Then Devan came along, and things were going good and then some idiot decides to take down an air marshal. And now I'm just starting to get my bearings back. So, don't do this to me." His voice shook with emotion.

She stood in front of him, an accusing finger in his face. "You know what? You're a coward, Woody. I'm standing here pouring my heart out to you. You're finally getting what you've always wanted, and you won't take it. Because you're afraid to commit."

"Me? God, if that weren't so sad it would be hilarious, Jordan. You know, maybe you're right in some warped way. Maybe I'm afraid to commit to someone who could just as easily change her mind tomorrow. Maybe I'm afraid to commit someone who's going to take the quickest route out of town at the first sign of trouble. Maybe, just maybe, I'm afraid to commit to someone who's got more issues than National Geographic!"

She stumbled backward as if she had been physically struck. They stood frozen for a moment, he as shocked at his own words as she. She turned finally and lurched for the door.

"Jordan, wait..." He grabbed for her wrist, but she shook loose.

He followed her as she careened down the stairs and onto the street, pleading her not to go.

"Jordan, come on! Don't leave like this. Let's talk. I'm sorry..." She fumbled for her car keys as he stood in the rainy chill, barefoot. "I should never have said that. Please don't go."

If she opened her mouth, she knew she would cry. She jumped into her car and slammed the door resolutely.

"Jordan!" She could hear him call even as she drove away. The tears did not start until she had driven out of his sight. She pulled over onto the shoulder as cars whizzed past her, and she sobbed with abandon, accompanied only by the steady swoosh of the windshield wipers against the torrent of rain.


	4. Are You Strong Enough to Be My Man?

He sat assuming a feigned expression of interest and made sure to interject an occasional, "uh huh" or "absolutely" as the man in the clip-on tie behind the desk went on and on about "working 24/7" and "thinking outside the box."

Jordan had not been far from his thoughts in this past week. When she had left that stormy Friday night, he had immediately gone upstairs and left a message with a fumbling apology asking her to please please please call him.

She had not.

He was surprised how keenly he felt the loss of Jordan from his life, more so than Devan, he had realized with not a little bit of guilt. Devan had died, a young woman's life had ended terribly, and he grieved for her and for her family. But with Jordan, he grieved for himself and the end of something for which he had yearned for so long.

He was ever the optimist, hoping Jordan would stop running for long enough to realize that she loved him as much as he loved her. It was inevitable, he had thought. But their timing had been hopelessy, tragically off, and the past three years of his life in Boston now seemed an utter waste.

Time to move on.

He looked over the man's shoulder out the window onto the streets of the unfamiliar city below. This part of town was ugly and grey, and 8th Street was like any other dirty, urban street. It wouldn't be that different from Boston, he thought, except no Jordan. And _that_ was a good thing.

He smiled and nodded vacantly as the man finally stood up from his desk. "Well, Det. Hoyt? What do you say?"

Woody rose and stretched his hand out. "I say, 'It's great to be aboard. When do I start?'"

XXXXXXXX

She had dreamed of him the night before. They were together, and he held her close to him. His mouth was on her shoulders and her neck, and her fingers traced the smooth curves of his back.

While she was still in the ether place between dream and sleep, it was all real and Woody was beside her. Then she awoke with a start at the intrusion of the morning alarm and the unwelcome reality flooded back in.

She had convinced herself it was for the best that she did not return his call the night she had run from his apartment. Perhaps Garret was right and she should leave Woody alone and end things forever. That was why she hadn't called him.

Then it was anger and pride that paralyzed her. It had hurt her to have her childhood trauma dismissed so flippantly. But then, she knew he had spoken from his own anger.

Yes, she had led him on, but it had all seemed so harmless to her. He had followed her like a loyal puppy dog for three years, willingly and unconditionally, she had thought. She had made half-hearted attempts now and again to make it clear to him that they were "just friends." But how clear could it have been when she, herself, was not certain that friendship was all she wanted? And, of course, the implied promise of _more_ had always been there.

Funny thing, that. The promise had been spoken now. She was ready. He was not. Just when she had decided to stand still, he had stopped chasing her. The bitter irony of it stung. How could their timing have been so off?

So, she had trudged through a double shift that day with the image of her dream running through her mind and then home in what had become a numbing routine. She was just about to let herself fall back into sleep when there was a knock.

Before she could reach the door to look out the peephole, he spoke.

"Jordan, it's Woody. I know you're in there. I can see your shadow under the door, so you might as well let me in or I'll knock all night."

She was surprised after all that had passed that her heart still leapt a little at the sound of his voice. This was not good. Not good at all. She was supposed to be angry. She was supposed to not care. This was supposed to be over. She steeled herself, took a deep breath, and opened the door.

"Hi..." He managed a weak smile. "Can I come in?"

She said nothing but shrugged and let him pass. She returned to the center of the room and stood with her arms folded across her chest.

He stood for a moment shuffling his feet, clearing his throat, wondering if he should make small talk.

"Did I catch you at a bad time? You busy?"

She swept her arm across the room. It was empty. The TV was off, the coffee table was clear of books and papers, the lights were dimmed. "Well," she began with heavy sarcasm. "As you can see, I'm up to my neck in work and I've got this house full of people..."

"Oh. Yeah." He laughed nervously. "Listen, I just want to apologize." His voice was soft. " What I said about your..._issues._ It was uncalled for and totally insensitive. You just really threw me for a loop..."

She raised her hands in interruption. "Hey, look, it's me who should apologize. I dumped a lot of stuff on you, and I don't know where it came from."

"Oh. So all that about finding someone and the kiss? That was...?"

"Must have been a full moon, huh?" She tried to let out a careless, casual laugh, but it stuck in her throat.

"Oh. Well. Because if you'd said all those things to me a couple of months ago, I'd count myself the luckiest guy in the world right now."

"Ain't that a kick in the head?" She blinked back the puddle of tears that had gathered in her eyes.

No one spoke for a painful moment.

"Well. Anyway." He continued slowly. "I also came by because I wanted to tell you I've been offered a job with the Philadelphia P.D. I though you should know before you heard the rumors. It's a bigger division, more responsibility. The new Philly chief is out of Boston homicide, and he made a by-name request for me, so...well, it just seems like it's time for a change."

"Great. Good for you. I can certainly identify." She managed a pained, rueful half-smile.

"And. Well. There's not much point in hanging around Boston anymore, right?"

She opened her mouth to speak. "No. I guess not."

A fleeting look of disappointment passed across his face. "Right. So. I'm just on my way down to the precinct to give my two weeks notice, actually. I'll get out of your hair."

He shuffled awkwardly back towards the door.

"You know, Jordan, I'm going to be pretty busy in the next couple of weeks. Tying up loose ends and all, and I don't imagine I'll see you before I head out. So, I guess this is..." He let his voice trail off, not able to say the word.

"Goodbye, then?"

"Yeah." His voice came out a whisper. "I guess so."

"Oh." She looked away and searched for words. "Well, it's been great knowing you. We're going to miss you around the office." She felt the sting of hot tears return to her eyes at her complete inability to express anything more about the most important person in her life these last few years. "I'll just see you downstairs."

The walk to the street was silent and strained. They found themselves staring face to face on the sidewalk.

"Well." He said.

"Well. Goodbye, Woody." They reached out simultaneously and found themselves locked in an uncomfortable embrace. She patted his back awkwardly.

He backed away a few steps and waved. She waved back. He smiled weakly and turned to go. She stood watching him, her sadness deepening with every step he took away from her. This was it. He was gone.

He walked steadily down the long block, growing ever smaller in the twilight, but she stood there still, unable to turn from him, wanting to watch until he disappeared in the distance forever.

He walked on. And then his pace seemed to slow as he reached the corner.

She leaned forward and narrowed her eyes.

He had stopped. He stood stock-still, his back to her. Her heart raced. He raised one foot, as if to step off the curb and on to the next block and the next.

But he did not. He turned slowly and faced her for a long, agonizing moment. Then, he took a tentative step back to her, then another.

His stride lengthened as he moved purposefully back to her until finally he broke into a run, running back to where she stood with her arms open.

It was useless to stop the tears, she knew, as he lifted her up and covered her face with hungry kisses. She laughed with mock protest as he spun her and set her back on her feet. He took her face tenderly in his hands and tucked a loose strand of her chestnut hair behind her ear.

"I'm not going to Philadelphia. I'm not going to Philadelphia. Not a chance."

She laughed again, wiped at her tears, and kissed him back as they danced and spun on the sidewalk in the heady mix of emotions.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." She found the need to say, and the words poured out of her in a litany.

"Hey, sssh. It's okay."

She pushed back from him then and looked up at him seriously. "I know I have issues, but they make me who I am. Good _and _ bad. You've got to accept that. Can you accept that?"

"All I can do is try, Jordan. We both have things we've got to deal with." He looked away, and she knew he was thinking of Devan.

"It's going to be okay," she said, as if for the first time, she believed it. "We'll get through it. Both of us."

She took his hand and they moved to the stoop in the front of her building.

They sat there together in the last of the day's light, wrapped in the warm, untroubled silence.

THE END


End file.
